-[Chapter 001]-
“What does it mean to be alive? What value, if any, can we attribute to the bare concept of living; of existing? And why does the inevitability of our death seem so frightening?
The kith would argue that the simple act of existing grants one a ‘right’ to live and that it should be extended as far as possible—they always quest for immortality—but we, the monsters of this universe, know better. We know the value of death and the important part it plays in the great Cycles of Ruin. We strive to embrace death with dignity while they seek to escape their mortality at any cost, no matter how grim, cruel or ironic the price for their obsession may be. It is therefore exceedingly hard for the races of kith to accept the bitter reality of our shared existence: that life is cheap, for it is plentiful; that a life, absent purpose, is meaningless. No matter who or what you are—a lowly goblin or a highborn elf—the span of one’s life is irrelevant. In the eyes of the universe only your accomplishments, trials and tribulations will hold any merit at all.
Consider this, dungeon keeper: if your passing goes unnoticed, your name forgotten in a generation or two, then how can it be said that you had ever lived at all? Will your deeds be remembered by those that survive you, or will your name fade from memory with the turning of the page?”
—Maximilian Ripgore, A Dungeon Keeper’s Manifesto.
***
The throne room of the dungeon was bustling with excitement for the upcoming battle. Eager minions scurried back and forth across the cold and loveless granite floor under the watchful gaze of their sinister master. Mages conjured fires in the cast iron braziers that hung from the ceiling high above while alchemists drenched the space below with pungent mixtures. A thick black mist began to rise from the noxious puddles and reached out across the chamber, keeping low to the ground as it spread. The red light clashed with the creeping smoke and turned the otherwise barren scene into a veritable hellscape where the shadows flowed back and forth with the draft as it snuck in from the world above.
The alchemists departed once the background ambience had been established. Now a small army of menial servants entered the scene. They brought with them the kind of wealth that even a god-king would covet. The hoard of gold coins, jewels and precious trinkets afforded for this one event was so grand that they had to be brought in by the barrel-load. Hundreds of barrels worth of loot had soon arrived. In a calculated display of vanity they were emptied into treasure piles near the stone pillars that held up the ceiling of the chamber, leaving but a sliver of open ground between the entrance and the throne for the intruders to navigate as they pleased.
Once their work was finished the menial servants slinked back into the shadows of the dungeon. By now all the braziers has been lit so the crimson mages took their leave as well. It would soon be time for the overseers to gather before the throne of their master. It was their duty to report on the completion of their work, but not before first inspecting it thoroughly themselves, of course. They were determined to set an appropriately grim tone for the final showdown with their sinister lord, the undisputed master and commander of this dungeon, Basil von Doom.
Basil was pleased by their due diligence. The demon lord followed the ongoing preparations from the corner of his eye while skimming through the latest status updates as they appeared on the yellow pages of his leather-bound dungeon keeper’s handbook. The lists of casualties, of both friendly and hostile forces, popped up in his arcane manual alongside other status reports related to his realm. The messages formed a never ending stream of information for the dungeon keeper to browse as he pleased—to be acknowledged, acted upon or dismissed at the flick of a finger.
For a while now the dungeon keeper’s interest had been divided between the work of his minions and his own contemplations, but his full attention was finally grabbed by a new report as it appeared in his arcane handbook. The message glowed bright red so as to highlight its importance to the dungeon’s operator: “Sector #7 has fallen to the enemy! Intruders advancing on Sector #8!”
Basil cracked the faintest of smiles, revealing a fang in the corner of his mouth. “Wonderful,” he whispered to himself. “The brave heroes are heading straight for the throne room. Our encounter will take place just as I had planned it.”
The dungeon keeper dismissed the warning with the swipe of his hand and closed the book. He tapped his claws against the hard covers of the tome as he considered his next move. Ten minutes, Basil wagered. Ten minutes and they should be standing at the door. Maybe a little longer, if they need to catch their breath before the final battle. Best to leave the entrance to the throne room closed then—let them gather their strength in relative peace, if they so desire.
Basil raised one hand to his dark red face and plucked at his beard in contemplation of his situation. The rest of his head was completely bald, but it was crowned by two symmetrical horns that sprouted forth from just above his temples. They curved forward and up like a pair of wicked pikes. His mighty horns afforded the dungeon keeper a semi-regal look, minus the gold trimmings and socketed gems of an actual crown. His pronounced facial features almost made Basil out to be the idealized reflection of the humanoid male—stoic, noble and endowed with a jaw chiseled in stone—but the brown horns, in combination with his hulking size and thick limbs, skewed that charming appearance just enough so that he was also one nose ring short from being mistaken for a bipedal bull.
Looming large in his throne, covered in thick slabs of crudely forged armor, adorned with unholy symbols, he all but embodied the idea of a brutish warlord; the very picture of a dungeon keeper as imagined by his kith foes. But, in reality, just like the throne room around him, the overblown appearance of the dungeon keeper was designed to intimidate his enemies and inspire his subjects before any other more practical considerations. After all, what defines a culture of war and distinguishes it from mindless acts of destruction are the rituals involved. In this regard a dungeon keeper was akin to a priest of death, playing his part in the Cycles of Ruin, while the kith heroes would provide the sacrifice.
Once again Basil’s arcane manual began to vibrate in an effort to draw its operator’s attention. The dungeon keeper cracked it open to find a new line of text superimposed over the yellow pages: “Intruders in sector #8!”
Floors, sectors, rooms—it was all a matter of theme and personal preference on the part of the keeper that operated them. Most dungeons were designed with a common template in mind and a treasure trove at heart, so as to better entice the daring heroes and adventurers who sought to conquer them. Traps, monsters and other adversities would be encountered in a growing order of difficulty to separate the unworthy intruders from those of actual merit. The greatest of heroes would eventually find themselves facing the final boss, most often in his throne room; most often a creature of unimaginable power; most often the harbinger of their inevitable doom.
Basil dismissed the warning and closed the book to distance himself from the constant flow of information. Soon enough the arcane tome began vibrating again, no doubt in an effort to warn the operator of the imminent danger to his life and limb, but this time Basil ignored it completely. He already knew that the intruders were following the path of most resistance. They were headed straight for the throne room.
In preparation for the coming battle the dungeon keeper cracked his neck, shoulders and fingers, dispelling the stiffness from his joints. He then surveyed the field of battle for one last time. From his seat of power Basil commanded the perfect view of the battlefield and was himself certain to remain visible no matter how the intruders chose to approach him. His throne was perched atop of a jagged obsidian pyramid facing the main entrance on the opposite end of the chamber. This kind of spacing helped to set the mood for the coming battle and kept the intruders from rushing him right out of the gates. After all, what value was there in a fight to the death without the ever so delicious foreplay of words? Be they holy vows, unholy curses or grand proclamations of the heroes’ intent, they were sure to make for a satisfying prelude to their inevitable demise.
With the kith heroes set to arrive soon, Basil’s minions gathered before their master to report on the completion of their work and to receive his last orders. With the fires lit and shadows conjured, the mood throughout the throne room now rested somewhere between the opulent vanity of a dwarven treasure vault and the smothering, all-consuming darkness of the underworld. Truth be told, the treasure piles were mere decorations, as were the crackling fires, iron spikes mounted on the walls and the disheartening whispers that lingered in the shadows. The lead-up to the fight had to instill as much dread and uncertainty into the foolish heroes as possible—anything to make the occasion more memorable for those few that were destined to survive it.
A dozen frightening shapes kneeled before Basil and silently awaited the dark lord’s orders. They were all secretly hoping that their master would grant them the honor of facing the intruders first, before the dungeon keeper would have to get his hands dirty, but none of them were bold enough to ask for such a favor. Indeed, to risk one’s life in defense of the dungeon core was a task any minion would volunteer for willingly, but never against the express orders of their master. There was no greater honor than to fight as a dungeon keeper’s chosen champion and no deeper shame than to defy his will.
From among the ranks of hulking demon warriors, burly beast masters and slender archmages a she-demon emerged. A horned beauty, a succubus, black of hair and draped in a black and white cape that enveloped her black scale mail armor; Elnora climbed the obsidian steps of her master’s throne tall and proud. She carried her weapon, a long and thoroughly wicked halberd over her shoulder in a resting stance.
When she reached the platform at the top of the stairs, Elnora kneeled before her lord in a show of fealty. There the succubus remained, patiently waiting for her master to deliver his final orders before the battle began.
Basil von Doom greeted his servant with an open palm, bidding her to speak.
“All of our preparations for the coming battle are complete, Master,” Elnora said and bowed her head in reverence to the dark lord.
“Good…” Basil replied in a low growl. “The heroes have done surprisingly little to subvert my intentions so far, thus we shall simply proceed as planned. Once the battle for the dungeon’s core is over, I will give the order for our armies to storm the capital city and bring our conquest of Empire Solar to an end.”
The dungeon keeper looked past the she-demon and addressed the room at large. “Our desolation of this realm has reached its final stage and I am pleased to say that I was not left disappointed by your efforts during this campaign. Your diligence will be rewarded. All deeds have been recorded. All sacrifices counted. The unholy work that we have done upon this world will be reflected in my report to the Guild.
“It is important to note that some of you,” he said while glancing at Elnora, “have exceeded my initial expectations.”
The previously tense expressions of the minions now lightened as their master’s praise reached their ears. But none looked more pleased by Basil’s words than the succubus kneeling before him.
“Furthermore, I have to commend the efficiency that my commanders have displayed out in the field,” Basil continued. “It is worth mentioning that due to your efforts we have once again managed to keep the losses of Guild assets and personnel to a bare minimum. Our recruitment drive among the local monsters has turned up a number of promising minions. The Guild has sanctioned more than three hundred contracts to be issued upon the conclusion of our campaign.
“None the less, I expect you all to strive to exceed your accomplishments in the next campaign we undertake,” Basil concluded. “That will be all.”
Elnora bowed her head even deeper to hide her smile. “Then have you decided on which of your minions will have the honor of facing the intruders today, Master?” she asked.
“None,” the dungeon keeper replied and gestured dismissively at the gathered minions below. “This time I intend to face them alone.”
A sensation akin to a cold gust of wind shot across the throne room. His minions acknowledged Basil’s order to stand down without objection, but none took it lightly. A chance to fight and die in defense of their dungeon, its master and the all sacred core was the highest of honors. Their disappointment was understandable, but never to be voiced in the presence of the dungeon keeper. There was no authority higher than him so no questioning of his decision would be permitted.
“There is too much at stake here,” Basil explained. “Once the heroes step inside the throne room my plans will call for a more subtle approach—a personal touch, if you will. I cannot risk failing the Guild’s assignment when I am so close to victory... when their precious Maiden Solar is almost within my grasp.
“Now leave me,” Basil commanded. “The intruders are almost at the door.”
The minions complied without a moment of hesitation. The small army of monsters and kith quickly disappeared into a passage behind the throne, leaving their master to face off against the intruders all by himself.
“As you wish,” Elnora said and rose to her feet, intending to back away from her master. “Then I shall see to the—”
“Wait,” Basil interrupted her. He gestured invitingly at the right side of his throne. “I think that it will be worthwhile for you to witness the battle in person,” he said. “I believe that you could learn a thing or two from the opponents that I am about to face. I might even find a small part for you to play in this fight, in accordance with your abilities, of course. Truth be told, the kith heroes that I am about to face are far beyond your ability to defeat, but an opportunity might present itself for you to wet your blade, so to say. You might even gain some experience from the ordeal.”
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“You honor me, Master,” Elnora replied. The succubus eagerly took the position that was offered at the side of the dark lord’s throne.
“Think nothing of it,” Basil said. “It is the mentor’s duty to challenge the apprentice. Even if you are not a purely combat oriented class, I cannot deny you the valuable trials of contending with opponents stronger than yourself. Or the thrill of it…”
“I will not disappoint you, Master,” Elnora said with conviction. “I am looking forward to an exciting battle.”
Basil growled. “I wish that I could say the same, but I fear that you will be left disappointed by their showing.” He looked to his apprentice as he elaborated on his point. “It is not their fault, mind you. Their precious goddess truly believes that she is sending her best champions on this desperate quest, yet none of them realize the scale of our operation or the inferiority of their forces.
“I took the time to skim through the chronicles of their world,” he said. “Did you know that Empire Solar had successfully resisted several monster invasions and defeated a number of native dungeon keepers in the past? We probably heard these deeds echoed in the marching songs of their armies, but it’s impossible to tell how powerful those native dungeon keepers really were.”
“If they had been worthy of notice then the Guild would have recruited them,” Elnora reasoned. “Statistically speaking, half of all native dungeons fail within the first year. Nine out of ten are defeated by the end of their first decade of operation. That is why the Guild exists—to pick up their slack.”
The dark lord ran his claws back and forth across the hard covers of the keeper’s tome. “Still, I would have liked to ask more from our enemies,” he lamented, “but even their best warriors are not fit to hold the line against the rabble we have recruited among the local monster population. Their weakness has left them with but one option: to try and save their precious Empire Solar from complete destruction they have resorted to mounting a suicide run on the core. A predictable move, made by a desperate foe...”
He tapped his claws against the covers of the arcane manual as he pondered his situation. “How unfortunate,” he said.
Elnora nodded. “Very unfortunate for them, Master,” she said. The she-demon thought it a joke; a snide remark at most, made at the expense of the foolish heroes, but such had not been Basil’s intent.
There was a growing sense of concern reflected in Basil’s expression as the dungeon keeper dwelled on his disappointment. There was no sense of dread stirring in his heart, no rush of emotion to stimulate his brain. Basil searched his wicked soul, but turned up nothing that could fuel his existence; he felt no excitement even as the intruders were about to descend upon him with murderous intent.
As he once more turned to his eager apprentice to measure her resolve, Basil found Elnora’s condition to be the exact opposite of his. The dungeon keeper could trace her anxiety from the stiffness of her posture to the elevated tempo of her shallow breaths. Her hands were subtly shaking under the strain of her fingers holding fast to her weapon, and yet the succubus tightened her grip even further once she noticed her master’s inquisitive gaze. She might have succeeded in hiding her anxiety from most other observers, but when Basil focused his well-honed senses he could feel even the faintest of vibrations as they traveled through the ground from where her weapon’s shaft touched it. In the sinister quiet of the empty throne room he could hear the hastened rhythm of her heart.
She is trying so hard to appear collected—pretending to be at ease in my presence—but I can almost smell her anxiousness with how close she is standing to me. Basil shook his head. Ah, succubae… their powerful pheromones always conspire to betray their true state of mind.
The succubus looked upon her concerned master and her expression grew wary. “Is everything alright, Lord Doom?” Elnora asked.
Basil could sense the storm of emotions raging within the she-demon. Of course she should feel excited, he thought. A chance to face our opponents in battle and to do so beside me, no less… This is her moment to shine. How long has she waited for such an opportunity, I wonder? Was I wrong to reward her with one now, at the end of our journey? Is she truly ready to face the possibility of death, or will she hesitate?
The dungeon keeper further examined the armored shape of the succubus, but kept his assessment to himself, as it would probably do her no good at the moment. The kith that we are about to face—you would not stand a chance against them in a fair fight, he concluded. You are about to witness the power of the greatest heroes that this world has to offer. Take what you will from this encounter…
When measured against her master, Elnora was young and inexperienced. In the yellow pages of Basil’s dungeon keeper’s manual her power level registered as a respectable twenty three—ten to twenty being the benchmark for most creatures worthy of first being noticed—but for a succubus it was hardly the upper limit. Her only true distinction was her [Elite] status that doubled her health when compared to others of her race at around that same level of power. While her kind were born with a natural aptitude for magic and martial arts, she had yet to fully master her first combat class, so her potential as a warrior was still very much underdeveloped. Then again, it was not for her combat prowess that Basil valued her. As an apprentice dungeon keeper in service to the Guild of Chaos she would, fate willing, one day come to rule a dungeon of her own. In that regard her academic prowess and management skills were far more important in the long run.
Basil pondered the predicament of his servant. Fresh out of the academy, thirsting for hands-on dungeon management experience and eager to get her own hands dirty; of course she would be rife with emotion. Who in their right mind wouldn’t feel excited for a fight like this—an assault on the core. A battle for the dungeon’s survival…
What kind of a dungeon keeper wouldn’t feel passion and pride for his work; the sole purpose of his existence?
Basil searched for the answer within himself, but turned up nothing to ease his troubled mind. It was a simple enough question to ask, but a satisfying answer still eluded him.
I am about to engage my enemies in a fight to the bitter end. Basil drew a deep breath and held it in for a moment as if trying to fill up the void within his chest. And yet, I feel nothing. Nothing at all…
The dungeon keeper sighed wearily. “Nora?” Basil addressed his apprentice in abbreviation to make it clear that they could speak more freely.
Casual conversation or not, the she-demon was still his apprentice, so Elnora replied with the due respect. “Yes, Lord Doom?”
“Why do you want to become a dungeon keeper?” Basil asked. “What do you see in it?”
The she-demon appeared bemused by her master’s question.
“Why, because it is like the best thing ever!” she replied with excitement. “To rule over a dungeon, to care for one’s faithful minions—it is the greatest of aspirations for any demon with even an inkling of skill in leadership.”
She probably thought that Basil was testing her, so Elnora placed her hand over her heart as she recited the words she had memorized from her days in the Guild’s Academy of Dungeon Management. “Nothing of value comes without hardship and only the strong have the right to claim power! Stand tall and fight well—your minions will follow. True glory can only be found in victory or death, so be exemplary in both!”
Basil shook his head. “I know the textbook you are quoting,” he said. “Dungeon keeper Ripgore was a great scholar and I respect his work in laying the foundations of organized dungeon keeping. But I can’t help to wonder if there was ever a moment of doubt in his long and exceedingly violent career as a dungeon keeper; a time when he saw a different future for himself.”
He rubbed his forehead as he further pondered the question that he had just raised. “Do you think he ever felt the urge to…” Basil trailed off for a brief moment while searching for the right words.
Elnora averted her gaze to hide her shy smile as she whispered to herself, “My kind has many urges...”
“—to strike out against the order of the universe,” Basil continued. He seemed oblivious to how hard the succubus was trying to hide her blushing cheeks.
The dungeon keeper held out his claws in a show of passion as if grasping for something. “To venture beyond the limits prescribed in the rules of the Guild,” he said. “To do more than is required from our position; to seek out glory on our own terms, regardless of the consequences…
“Would that not be a thousand times more exciting than what dungeon keeping has traditionally been?” he asked. “We have long since perfected the best tools and strategies for dungeon management, but I fear that we have traded away the spirit of adventure in exchange for guaranteed results. In search for the most efficient outcome we have abandoned our passion for reckless discovery.”
Basil turned to Elnora, who had by now resorted to folding up the fabric of her cape in an effort to hide her blushing face. Ignorant of her aroused mindset, he delved deeper into his misgivings about his current predicament.
The dungeon keeper clenched his fist in a show of anguish. “I hold so much power and responsibility and, yet, I find no meaning in it,” he lamented. “My bloodline has been running dungeons and conquering worlds for the Guild of Chaos for generations—three thousand years of glorious ruin. Like my ancestors before me, I took up that mantle willingly, but why am I not… content with it?”
He spoke of being content, but deep-down Basil knew that the word was ‘happy’. The dungeon keeper felt like he was missing something very important in his life—some as of yet undiscovered part of himself, maybe—but couldn’t quite come up with a way of filling that void.
“Why has dungeon keeping become so monotonous?” he asked. “With all the bureaucracy and restrictions of the Guild… sometimes I just…”
Basil peered deep into Elnora’s purple eyes, searching for any answer that might ease his troubled mind. “Is there no place left in this universe for reckless adventure? Or am I simply flirting with madness by pondering such questions?”
Elnora had no answers to give. The topic that Basil had raised reached well beyond the abilities of the young succubus to explore with any degree of agility.
Basil winced. This is not the time, he realized. The battle is about to begin. She will be distracted now. I shouldn't have said anything.
But the she-demon appeared to have caught on to her master's line of thought. Against her own better judgment she went along with Basil’s strange inquiry.
“I don’t mind the paperwork,” Elnora said in a quiet voice, as if trying to excuse her aspirations of becoming a dungeon keeper. “If it gets me ahead in life, I will play by the Guild rules, even if I sometimes disagree with them. I know my worth and responsibilities, and I will do what needs to be done.”
Basil realized his blunder and sought to dismiss the topic with the wave of his hand. “Later,” he said, “I think we should continue this conversation later.” Preferably never…
He shook his head trying to dispel the creeping sense of existential dread. My doubts really aren’t something that I should bother my minions with. They have their own burdens to carry.
“I apologize for bringing this topic up at a moment like this,” he said. “Just… has been on my mind for a while now.”
Elnora straightened out her cape and spoke up with more confidence. “And I apologize if I am overstepping my boundaries as an apprentice,” she said, “but I think that your question was earnest. You wanted me to speak my mind, so I will.” She drew a deep breath of courage before continuing.
“I won’t pretend that I always knew what I was going to do with my life,” she said and gestured towards the throne room floor, “but this is the only thing that feels like it has any meaning to it. This feels like it is the right path, because it is the path of most resistance. For me, at least…
“You were destined for this,” Elnora said. “You were born and raised to rule, but for me,” she opened her arms and offered her armor-clad body up on display, “this is all I have. This is all I am. And I want to be more. The Guild is my way forward—unto glory or death—and I can’t imagine coming this far without it.”
I am looking at the world from the top, Basil reminded himself. Of course the minions wouldn’t feel the same way; the Guild is an almost liberating force for them, where as I am shackled by it. All that she can see is the difficult road ahead and she is reveling in the challenge of it… Yet, I wonder what will she do when she reaches the end? When she climbs that mountain… How will she deal with the bitter truth that a dungeon keeper must learn to accept at the peak of their power?
The dungeon keeper shook his head, trying to banish the thought. It is best to let her travel down that path blindly, even if you know where it ultimately leads to.
Basil was trying to think of a way to steer the conversation into a different direction when the dungeon keeper’s manual once more began to vibrate. He flipped it open to find a single line of text superimposed across both pages: “The dungeon core is in danger—intruders are about to breach the throne room!”
The dungeon keeper growled. “Well, that settles it then,” he said and gestured towards the bronze gate on the opposite side of the chamber. “Our guests have arrived. I sincerely hope that they will make this fight as exciting for me as it will be for you.”
Elnora touched up her gown and assumed a rigid posture standing next to Basil’s throne. She did her best to appear intimidating, but in all honesty she could do little to match the doom and gloom that radiated from the hulking beast sitting next to her.
This fight is not about glory, fame or settling my doubts, Basil reminded himself. The cycle has to continue. I have a job to do and a soul to capture...
With the flick of the dungeon keeper’s hand the fires in the braziers grew dim and dusk settled across the throne room. The gold coins that were scattered throughout the chamber still glistened with a dull shine, jealously clutching at ever tiny wisp of light that pierced the arcane shroud of smoke.
With the stage set for the final encounter all that remained was for the actors to take their places. The heroes—unwitting participants in this cruel charade—could afford to improvise their lines, but the dungeon keeper had a very particular script to follow, since he had a particular goal in mind. To lure out and ensnare his intended target, Basil had to make sure that the whole ordeal was not rushed to conclusion prematurely. Gods were, after all, known to be cowardly creatures and if he slew their champions too swiftly they usually chose to avoid direct confrontation.
Basil opened his dungeon keeper’s manual and flipped it over to a page titled ‘Storage’. Within it he selected a tag named ‘Artifacts’ and then scrolled through the menu all the way down to ‘Jewelry’ and then ‘Rings’.
From a long list of available items the dungeon keeper selected one called ‘Ring of False Promises’. The lengthy description of the item contained a passage stating that it was a magical artifact crafted from a material commonly referred to as fool’s gold. The manual warned him that the ring would inflict a terrible curse upon anyone who wore it, but that was exactly what he was looking for. Out of the six rings available in his dungeon’s arcane storage, Basil conjured five onto his fingers.
Just as he donned the cursed jewelry the dungeon keeper began to visibly diminish in size and power. Once the withering effect of the magic rings had fully taken hold of him, Basil no longer resembled a monstrous beast, but, rather, a very large demi-human with strong demonic traits. Standing upright he would now barely reach above Elnora’s height, which is exactly as tall as he wished to be to give his kith opponents the illusion of a fighting chance.
“If all goes according to my plan,” Basil told Elnora, “then we won’t have to worry about Maiden Solar and her silly cult of sun worshipers when we go about storming the capital city tomorrow.”
The dungeon keeper raised his hand and examined the glistening rings on his fingers. “The trap has been set. The heroes have come to claim my head in the name of their precious goddess. If they truly are the greatest champions that Empire Solar has to offer… then I will accept their blood sacrifice.”
Basil flipped through the pages of his arcane manual until two human avatars appeared, their names displayed with the [Elite] modifier next to them. The two siblings, Aidan and Nadia, stared back at him with blank expressions, their abilities, racial traits and combat class listed and broken down in fine detail for him to study.
The dungeon keeper brushed his claws-turned-meaty-fingers across the static pictures of his would-be killers. “Let’s see if their beloved Maiden Solar takes the bait,” he said. “I don’t expect her intervention to come until enough of my blood has been spilled. She would never risk facing me at my prime. Not that she knows the extent of my power, the arrogant fool.
“Today I am going to teach you a lesson about death and dignity,” he told Elnora. “Whatever happens next; however the battle plays out, keep in mind that it is never my intention to belittle my foes. These kith have come here to fight and die for their beloved civilization. No matter how futile their struggle might seem us, it is the counterweight to our existence. This interaction is the force that drives the Cycles of Ruin. This is what life is all about.”
“A glorious death,” Elnora said.
Basil nodded.